“It’s a gift.”
He frowns.
“For who?”
“Uh…” I hesitate.
I know it’s crazy. I know she’s going to be angry and refuse to accept it. But neither of those are good enough reasons not to do it.
It’s just a car. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things. And really, it’s for me. I need her to be at work on time. I need to be able to rely on her. My career is at stake. Okay, that might be taking it a bit far, but I’m more than willing to go there when I no doubt go toe to toe with her over it.
“Handsy,” Killer warns.
“Fine. It’s for Freya. Hers is a piece of shit that broke down on her this morning. I need her in something reliable. I need to know she’s going to turn up to work and—don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“Oh, I’ll look at you however I want.” Movement over my shoulder catches his eye, and before I know what’s happening, he’s called Rett and Monroe over. “If I were to tell you that Handsy here is buying a car for his personal chef, what would you both say?”
“He wants to bang her,” Rett says without missing a beat.
“Freya is going to be mad,” Monroe says, without thinking with his dick. Sometimes, it's really fucking refreshing, talking to our rookie.
I shake my head as the three of them watch me, waiting for a response.
“Yeah, she’ll more than likely be mad. But I’m just trying to be nice. She deserves nice things and?—”
“You want to fuck her,” Rett repeats.
“She’s my employee,” I argue.
“So? Who the fuck cares about that? She's hot, and from what I’ve heard, her ex was a douchebag. She’s probably desperate for some good dick. If you’re not interested, I can?—”
“Don’t you so much as think about finishing that sentence, asshole,” I warn.
Rett’s only reaction is to grin. And when I look at the other two, I discover matching smiles on their faces as well.
“I don’t want to fuck her,” I argue.
“And that, gentlemen, is what bullshit smells like,” Killer sings.
I shoot him a death glare, willing him to shut the fuck up. I don’t want to talk to them about Freya. I certainly don’t want them talking about the things I may or may not fantasize about when I’m in bed alone at night.
“If you want her, do something about it. Life is too short.”
“Wow,” Monroe muses, staring at Rett in awe.
“What?” Rett asks.
“N-nothing. I just…well, I wish I had your kind of confidence.”
“Don’t listen to him. Have you ever watched him try to pull a woman who isn’t a bunny?” Killer teases.
Rett barks a laugh. “Um…I’m not sure I remember a time when I had to try,” he states, slugging Killer in the upper arm.
“You’ve got plenty of girls interested,” I say to Monroe. I’ve seen them at games, wearing his jersey and screaming his name, just as much as he has.
“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing his rough jaw. “I just…none of them…they’re not what I want.”
“Monroe, are you a bit of a romantic?” I ask, happy to turn the focus away from me.
